


sweet

by pensee



Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Pusher (Refn Movies), Trial & Retribution
Genre: Attempted motorboating, Barebacking, Creampie, Enthusiastic Consent, Fingering, Hair-pulling, Hannibal rarepair, M/M, One mention of erectile dysfunction, One mention of male chest as "tits", Though his dick's onboard with it all the way, Toberto, Tonny in denial that he's dating Roberto, Unrealistically quick prep for anal sex, Virginity Roleplay, hannigram rarepair, irresponsible spacing of words, mentioned porn-watching because Tonny, mild spanking, never seen Trial & Retribution, read the notes inside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 02:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18929560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/pseuds/pensee
Summary: “C’mon Tonny, let’s play it like it’s my first time.”





	sweet

**Author's Note:**

> About 3/4ths into this fic, there’s a part where Tonny penetrates Berto a bit (without intending to go further) when they’ve only prepped for a little while (although they are both consenting and Berto remedies the prep-issue himself quickly after), so see my proselytizing about safe anal sex that involves both partners being ready in the endnotes if you are concerned. Please consume this fic safely!

Tonny’s really not good at figuring people out, but Roberto—with his limpid blue eyes, shamelessly pink mouth, and mean streak a mile long—makes being social even harder. Bad enough he got his brains scrambled, now he’s got to deal with layers upon layers of sociopathic bullshit. He physically _can’t_ read between the fucking lines, but somehow Berto expects him to do so, crawling over the nasty carpet to sit at Tonny’s feet with an entreating look on his face.

“Hej,” he breathes out, smiling like Christmas morning, like he knows something Tonny doesn’t. Based on the fact Tonny had flunked out of school at fourteen, yeah, he’s pretty sure Berto knows a lot of things he doesn’t.

“Hey, baby,” he says. “What do you want? I’m watching the game.”

He gestures weakly to the flatscreen, but it’s not easy to convince Berto he’s got a hard-on for the sports highlights on TV2, the tip of his cock already peeking out of his briefs. He’d switched the channel just as Berto woke up, but the low moaning over the speakers a few minutes ago would’ve been easy to pick out. Fuck, if Berto had just been faking at napping, and waiting for Tonny to start jerking himself off…

“You wanna play a fun game right now? Just the two of us?” Roberto says, still smiling, though he’s biting his lower lip now, his flat, white teeth peeking out.

“I dunno,” Tonny says, looking at the back of his hand, the spiderwebbed ink there, tracing each shape, keeping himself grounded. Berto’s always trying to trick him into things; sticks him with the bill, uses him to fend off unwanted attention at the bars, though all they’re doing is fucking, not dating. Tonny only dates chicks. Chicks he can fingerfuck equally well with both hands—got so much practice he’s fucking ambidextrous with that shit.

“There’s only one rule,” Berto tries, enticing and rumpled, flannel shirt hanging off a pale shoulder, already starting to blush. Tonny can’t help but think that Berto likes getting fingerbanged just as much as girls do, his wrist suddenly aching with a phantom pain from last week, when he’d flipped Berto onto his shoulders, legs over his head, slid half his hand inside while Berto bullied him for more, harder, _morelubeTonnyfuckthathurtsfuckthat’sgoodbabythat’ssofuckinggood_ —.

“What’s the rule,” Tonny mutters, flexing his fingers, tapping a cigarette out of the now empty carton on the coffee table.

“Be really sweet to me,” Berto whispers, Tonny fully sunk now, hanging onto his every word. When did he get this fucking close? Why do his eyes have those pretty little specks of green in them?

“Sweet?” Tonny parrots. Sweets are things you eat, not some way to fucking be.

“C’mon Tonny,” Berto says, climbing up onto the side of the sofa, his torso arched over the edge, arms planted in the sagging cushions beneath Tonny’s thighs. “Let’s play it like it’s my first time.”

His breath is hot and minty on Tonny’s ear, and Tonny wonders whether he’d snuck some breath-freshening gum because no one wakes up with their mouth smelling that good, the stall in his thoughts giving Berto the opportunity to sneak his hand down Tonny’s briefs.

“This guy seems interested enough,” Berto laughs, light and gleeful like he’s holding cotton candy in his hands, not Tonny’s very interested erection, veins along his foreskin pulsing with every small shift in Berto’s grip.

Their faces are still close so that all Tonny has to do to kiss him is move down a bit, and he grabs for something to steady Berto, who nearly flops face-first into his lap—exactly where he wants him, but without the potential for a busted nose or Berto’s jawbone smacking his dick—before Tonny steadies him. It’s then he realizes that Berto’s slid out of his shirt entirely, and Tonny frantically grabs for the closest thing—Berto’s long hair—to hold him up, Roberto’s fingers bunched in the couch as he slides into Tonny’s lap and a less precarious position.

“Ow. That wasn’t very sweet,” Berto pouts, but he’s wrinkling his nose in the way that Tonny knows means he’s trying not to grin.

“I’m just clumsy. Don’t get a lot of pretty ones like you. So…untouched. It’s…intimidating,” Tonny says, and it’s partially true. The “intimidating” part, at least.

“Christ, it’s so hot when you speak English. Fuck,” Berto groans, shimmying out of his tiny boxers and twining his arms around Tonny’s tense shoulders.

Tonny, to steady himself this time, grabs Berto’s right ass cheek in his hand, spreads him as his middle finger creeps toward Berto’s hole. This works with anyone, Tonny tells himself. Don’t be a fucking chicken about it.  

This works with Berto for sure, who is already close (or pretending for Tonny’s benefit), and jacks himself once before squeezing the base of his cock so tight that Tonny winces in sympathy.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the words coming from somewhere, some part of him that’s confident in himself, however small it is. “It’s okay if you—It’s okay to cum. I not gonna, I mean, _I’m_ not gonna laugh.”

“Baby,” Berto says, almost helplessly, though Tonny knows better. Berto wanted this, so he’s getting it. Tonny wants this, too, so he’s just going along, trying to do right, and help his dick have a good fucking time while he’s at it.

“That’s okay, Berto,” Tonny mutters, moving Berto’s hand back onto his dick, sliding the middle finger of his opposite hand into Berto’s crack.

“Feel that?” he hisses, stroking up Roberto’s perineum, gently massaging the rim of his hole. “I’ll give you that if you come for me.”

Berto’s eyes widen, sparkling.  “Uh-huh,” he whines, with a whole collection of breathless, high sounds that make a low growl build in Tonny’s chest.

Palm slick with his own pre-come, Berto slides his hand along his shaft, thumb rubbing insistently at his corona as Tonny’s fingers tease at his underside.

“You want it?” he smiles, baring his shark’s teeth, and Berto shakes like he’s seizing, a low sob falling from parted lips as he comes, Tonny quickly slicking his finger with a disgustingly sticky, well-used bottle of lube next to the ash tray, spreading Berto’s ass again and working the tip inside.

“Yes, fucking yes,” Berto moans, sinking his ass back onto Tonny’s hand, fingers idly swirling his come on Tonny’s soft abdomen, yanking briefly at the hair on his pecs before a wicked, unvirginal expression crosses his features.

“Was it supposed to be over that quick?” he asks, dragging his still half-hard dick over the small trail of hair that leads down to Tonny’s belly button. Then back up, his warm hands pushing Tonny’s pecs together, and Tonny sees where it’s going, swats his hand against Berto’s thigh, then his ass when he doesn’t stop.

Too bad Berto’s tits were so flat, or he’d ask for the same thing if he got the chance.

“You can have that. When I get what I want,” he says, trying not to tremble, and Roberto easily stretches out on the empty end of the couch, hair spilling over his shoulders, ass up and swaying in playful little grinds as he crosses his ankles.

“Is this something you want?”

“Not something I want. Something I’m gonna get,” Tonny says, so low it’s barely there, though by the way Berto goes lax and trembly, thighs spreading and knees dipping into the cushions, he knows Roberto’s got the message clear enough.

Grabbing for the lube again, he’s surprised for a second at Berto’s smaller hand sneaking below his own, rubbing the sticky stuff all over his own fingers, too.

“I wanna help,” he says, sheepish, and for the life of him, Tonny can’t tell if it’s an act.

“Okay, _help_. For helvede,” he curses, and Berto tucks his wet hand next to Tonny’s own, craning his neck back to see the faintest hint of what they’re about to do, his head hanging down when Tonny guides the first joints of two of Berto’s fingers and one of his own past Berto’s rim.

“You’re gonna have to take more than that,” he says wildly, and his dick’s hard as a fucking rock, no fucking problems here, and Berto’s had more than this up his ass as recent as this morning, so he loses the pretense and uses his free hand to push the tip of his cock against where their fingers are crammed together.

Berto’s head lolls, his eyes rolling heavenward, and he shoves Tonny’s hand out of the way, gets two of his own fingers into himself. Tonny watches for an endless string of seconds as Berto moans and writhes, muscles shaking when he takes a third finger, then a fourth that has Tonny’s cock puddling pre-come onto the ratty couch.

He hasn’t even taken his briefs off yet, but he’s pushed them down under his balls, and that’s the best it’s going to get, he thinks, Berto keening, _TonnyTonnyhurryupIwantitasbadasyoudo_.

Berto’s so used to supporting both their weights that he only gives a bit when Tonny drapes himself over his back, doesn’t collapse entirely, and actively moves his hips as Tonny gets into him from behind, both of them thrusting in counter rhythm that makes them both weak within the minute.

Their sweat’s got them sticking to the fake leather and making a bunch of noises that would probably be funny in another circumstance, but Tonny’s already been holding off for what feels like years, and his balls are ready to burst.

“Berto,” he warns, and Berto just nods vigorously, whimpering and clamping his nails onto Tonny’s thighs.

“Fucking shit,” Tonny mutters in Danish, coming till both their legs are quaking, and Berto’s trying not to waste the moment, alternating between humping the couch and jacking himself off. Finally finishes for a second time a few seconds after Tonny shifts them till Berto’s in his lap again, running both their hands over Berto’s prick.

“That wasn’t very courteous,” Berto mock-complains, chest rising and falling, drawing Tonny’s attention to his full-body blush from the exertion. “Your partner’s always supposed to come first.”

“You came first,” Tonny snorts, the panting turning it into a choked off grunt. “Even asked me why you came so quick.”

“It was part of the game!” Berto insists, rearranging himself so Tonny’s dick is out of him and Tonny can feel his own come dripping onto his thigh.

“I like this game,” Tonny hums, scratching at the dried come on his chest. “But not as much as football.”

The glare Roberto shoots him would be murderous, if not for the threat of a smile beginning to break through the thunderous look.

In the far bedroom, Olle stirs awake and begins to cry.

“Back to reality,” Berto sighs, though his face is softer than Tonny’s ever seen it. “You take care of him. I have to wash.”

“Sure, sure,” Tonny says, wiping his dick off with a stray tissue and then tossing it at the bin.

“Thanks,” Berto says, and leans up to kiss him on the cheek, almost shy, before he disappears down the hall to the bath.

Tonny touches the spot on his cheek for a second, before Olle’s cries grow loud enough to shatter glass, Tonny beelining for the bedroom in response.

Maybe, he thinks, smiling to himself, Berto wasn’t that hard to figure out after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Always be safe. Let’s say these two woobies are committed and for the sake of artistic license, prep was handwavey and rushed. ALWAYS listen to what your partner needs and communicate! 
> 
> For more Hannibal-related stuff, I’m on Twitter as @penseeart.


End file.
